


love on the studio lot

by Penda



Category: LazyTown
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Cliches abound, Falling In Love, Historical Inaccuracy, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-24
Updated: 2017-02-27
Packaged: 2018-09-26 16:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9910409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penda/pseuds/Penda
Summary: “You want me to what?” Robbie asked, disbelievingly. There was no way he had heard that right. He was having auditory hallucinations from lack of sleep or something. It wouldn't be the first time.“You're going to be making a film at Lazy Pictures.”Nope, apparently he'd heard right.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I told myself I would put this aside until I had worked on mistletoe & honeysuckle some more, but I got very excited about this au and I have absolutely 0 restraint, so here we are! Updates will probably be slow going for this one since I'm aiming for longer chapters.  
> Also, I'm still working on mistletoe & honeysuckle! So fear not, there will be more!  
> I did a basic amount of research for this but it is by no means a realistic au. I thought going too in depth with it would detract from the enjoyment of it, and at the end of the day, this is gay Lazy Town fanfiction; no one is readying this for an accurate depiction of 1930s Hollywood.  
> So, having suspended your disbelief, I hope you all enjoy this self indulgent mess I've created for myself :')

“You want me to _what_?” Robbie asked, disbelievingly. There was no way he had heard that right. He was having auditory hallucinations from lack of sleep or something. It wouldn't be the first time.

“You're going to be making a film at Lazy Pictures.”

Nope, apparently he'd heard right.

“Lazy Pictures. _Poverty row_ Lazy Pictures?”

“Don't give me any trouble over this Rotten-”

He got to his feet, leaning over the desk to glower at Mr. Mayhem through the smoky gloom of the office.

“Who do you think I am?” he demanded. “You think I'm the sort of actor who'll participate in any old rubbish?” How _dare_ he even _suggest_ it!

“Who I think you are is someone under contract for another five pictures with us, and if I say you're doing this picture, you're doing it,” Mr. Mayhem said firmly, his rough voice grating Robbie's nerves raw.

“There is no way in _hell_ I am doing a _B picture_ -”

“You are, because I am paying you to!” Mayhem shouted, before he broke off coughing violently and setting his cigar down in the overflowing ash tray.

As always, the mention of money quieted Robbie. He sat back down, twitching his nose in thought. “What's the picture about?” he asked grudgingly.

“I dunno, some fairytale type deal, musical stuff, they want you for the villain-”

“What a surprise,” he muttered venomously, crossing his long legs and folding his arms sulkily.

“Listen,” Mayhem said, pointing at him, “that studio makes lousy pictures and if it doesn't get some money soon it'll go under, but I know for a fact that Sterling Studios are taking an interest in it, and I want to know _why_. They put out that they were looking for actors and I told them you were interested. You're my eyes and ears on this one Robbie,” he said, looking at him as earnestly as he could manage, which wasn't a very much.

Robbie sighed heavily, rubbing a tired hand over his face. He did not appreciate being sent over there just to see what was happening, but he was getting paid for it, at the end of the day he supposed. That was the important part. One B picture wouldn't kill him, he told himself. That didn't mean he had to like it though.

“Who am I working with?” he asked at last, resigned to his fate.

“Some kid that's just come in from vaudeville, producer says she's his niece or something,” Mr. Mayhem said vaguely, waving his hand.

Oh wonderful, _children_. Strike one already.

“Who else? Who is the lead?” he continued insistently. It wasn't him, that was for sure.

Mayhem fell silent.

“Well, about that...”

\---

“Uncle Milford!” Stephanie launched herself at her uncle as soon as she spotted him waiting on the platform.

“Oh my, Stephanie! You've grown so much since I last saw you,”

She giggled, stepping back to smile up at him.

“Did you have a safe journey?” her uncle asked “I worried when your parents said they wouldn't be able to accompany you on the train...”

“It was fine Uncle! Don't worry so much!” she beamed at him, picking up her little pink suitcase and taking his hand. The steam-train hissed behind her and people hurried to board before it departed again. She looked around the busy station as they headed outside to the car. Light streamed in from the high windows and all around them there were people walked like they had places to be. Everything was so _busy_. She was practically vibrating with excitement. She was used to crowds, but that didn't make it any less exciting.

She had been performing as a singer and dancer on vaudeville for two years now. She'd made quite an impression, she thought; her performances almost always sold out at least, but her parents were worried about her career. Vaudeville was a dying art, they said, pictures were the future. Stephanie didn't really mind where she performed as long as she got to do it, and she was always excited to try new things. Luckily, her uncle had offered to let say with him for a little while as she tried to break into the film business. He was even going to help her make a picture at his studio!

She couldn't wait to see her uncle's studio. He was the owner of Lazy Pictures, a production company that also owned it's own studio lot. He didn't own a theatre chain like all the big companies but Stephanie didn't think that part was important anyway.

She'd been waiting for this day for months and she stared wide eyed out of the window as her uncle's car made it's way through the city and to his house. The roads were wide and open and she could see the hills in the distance, backdropped by the clear blue sky. It was such a nice day. She wondered if she could go roller skating later after she'd settled in.

Suddenly her uncle pulled to a stop. She looked around, confused to find they had parked outside of a theatre.

“Uncle? Aren't we going to your house?”

Milford fidgeted nervously. Something cold prickled it's way up Stephanie's spine. Something was _wrong_.

“I-I'm sorry Stephanie,” her uncle stuttered, “but I'm afraid business has taken a turn for the worse lately. None of the theatres want to buy my pictures, if I can't get them to take any of them soon I may have to sell the studio.”

“No! Uncle that's terrible! There must be something we can do!” Suddenly the nice day outside didn't seem so important after all. Neither did roller skating.

“Well, we'll just have to see, I suppose,” he sighed heavily. “I have an appointment with the theatre managers here, I'm about to go in and meet them now. Wait in the car please?”

She nodded, her earlier enthusiasm, well and truly sapped.

“Good luck Uncle!” she called after him. She sat in the quiet car and tried not to panic.

 

About an hour later Stephanie was sitting outside of the second theatre her Uncle had scheduled an appointment with, her head propped up on her hands. She stared balefully at the construction work going on across the street, not really seeing it. The first theatre hadn't been interested in buying his picture. She sighed heavily, fiddling with the change clutched in her small palm. Her uncle had given her money for ice cream but she didn't really feel like buying any. She had been looking forward to seeing a real film studio, not to mention that her poor uncle could lose his business. This was not turning out like she had dreamed at all. She sniffed quietly to herself.

A hand tapped her gently on the shoulder. “Are you OK?” a voice asked.

Stephanie couldn't place the accent, but she looked up to find a pair of concerned blue eyes staring down at her. It was accompanied by an artfully tousled mop of blonde curls poking out from under a blue flat-cap, and a thin moustache. Her first thought was that he must be one of the workman from across the street. She blinked the gathering tears out of her eyes and offered him a smile.

“Oh, I'm fine,” she said, not sounding it. The stranger sat next to her.

“Is there anything I can do to help? Are you lost?” he asked earnestly.

She smiled. People were a lot nicer here than she had expected.

“Oh, no, nothing like that, I'm waiting for my uncle.” She gestured to the building behind them.

“Ah, I see.”

“He owns a film studio,” she said proudly, before remembering why they were here in the first place. “But he might not for very much longer,” she added gloomily.

“Oh? Why is that?”

“His last few films didn't do very well,” she admitted, staring at her shoes. “He couldn't get many theatres to take them, and if he doesn't make any money soon he might have to sell the studio.” her shoes had gotten awfully blurry, she thought distantly, before bursting into tears. The man put a soothing arm around her, and patted her head consolingly.

“I work in pictures myself,” he said, “I could go in and talk to them if you like? It might help.”

Stephanie blinked, looking at him again. He was wearing blue jeans, which hardly looked like film star attire to her, but maybe things were different here.

“You do? You would?” He nodded and she threw her arms around him. “Oh, thank you! Thank you!”

The man just laughed, hugging her back. "I'll see what I can do," he said, jumping up and disappearing into the theatre.

After a moment of impatient fidgeting Stephanie followed him inside to wait anxiously in the cool interior of the lobby. 20 minutes or so later the stranger emerged with her uncle, they were both smiling, which seemed like a good sign. She jumped to her feet, hurrying over to meet them.

“Really, I can't thank you enough, I don't know what I can do to repay you but-”

“Oh, don't worry about it!” the man said, beaming, “I was happy to help!”

“Uncle!”

“Oh! Stephanie! Wonderful news, Mr. Sportacus here has convinced the theatre to show my picture!”

“Oh!” Stephanie gasped suddenly “I'm sorry, I never asked for your name...” she trailed off, catching sight of the posters on the wall. The ones which showed the strangers face. And name. Wow. He really _was_ in the picture business.

“You're a star!” she blurted out before she could stop herself.

Sportacus followed her gaze and laughed sheepishly. “Well, almost. Maybe just a slightly below average one.”

“You should be in my picture with me!” she said, bouncing up and down excitedly, as the idea came to her.

“Oh, are you making a movie?” Sportacus asked, with genuine interest.

“Now, Stephanie, I'm sure Mr. Sportacus is very busy-”

“Yes!” Stephanie exclaimed, still bouncing “I wrote it myself,” she said proudly.

“Really! That's amazing! You must be very talented!”

Stephanie glowed under his praise. “Uncle Milford is going to help me make it!”

“That's great!” Sportacus said, taking Stephanie's hands and joining in with her bouncing. “I would love to be in it!”

“Did you hear that Uncle?”

“Oh my,” Milford said fretfully “Stephanie dear, you know that I want to help you make this picture but-”

The bouncing slowed, both of their faces falling.

“I still don't know if I'm going to have enough money to keep the studio open.”

“I'll help you!” Sportacus insisted.

“Oh, Mr. Sportacus, please you've already done more than enough-”

“It's no trouble!” he said brightly “I might only be a slightly below average star but I do know some people! You have other theatre managers to meet today, yes?”

“Oh, uh yes! That's right!”

Sportacus swung Stephanie up onto his shoulders easily and she giggled, spirits already as high as they were that morning. Perhaps even _higher_.

“Then let's go!”

It had turned out to be a good day after all, Stephanie thought.

\---

“Sportacus? SPORTACUS!? You expect me to work with that- that amateur- that jumping buffoon?!” Robbie slammed his hands on the desk sending everything on it jumping. His back regretted the sudden movement but he ignored it. “How can you expect me to work with _him_ , of all people?! ”

“Look, I know you don't like him, but Sportacus is the whole reason this picture is happening at all-” Mr. Mayhem tried to interject.

“He can't even act! The only reason he gets cast is his stunt work and his pretty face!”

The producer shrugged. “People like him. That whole, wholesome farm boy image he's got sells. He's been getting more high profile parts lately and he's well on his way to becoming a big star. From what I hear last week he convinced at least six theatres to take Lazy Pictures' latest film, and now he's somehow convinced Sterling Studios to lend a hand in funding this picture. If Sterling thinks it's worth putting money into then I want a hand in it too. Look Robbie,”

He blinked at the sudden switch to his first name, instantly on edge. That was never a good sign.

“I wasn't going to mention this, since I know how you get, but I gotta be honest; keeping you in only A pictures just isn't making us enough money anymore.”

Robbie turned cold.

“What are you saying exactly?” he asked stiffly.

“I'm saying that you can't always pick and choose what pictures you're in. Sometimes you're gonna have to be in the B pictures, and one of those times is now.”

Robbie felt his face turn red.

“Fine,” he snarled “Fine. _Fine_!”

He stormed out, slamming the door hard enough to rattle the glass. He was _far_ too good for _B_ pictures.

 

Lazy Pictures was surprisingly big. For such a small company they had a lot of space at their disposal. It was made to look even bigger by the fact that it was practically a ghost town. In fact, other than Milford Meanswell himself (who Robbie had met once or twice earlier in both of their careers), a lone workman moving equipment about, and, he shuddered, _Bessie Busybody,_ there didn't appear to be any other crew members around.

There was a boy of about 12 fiddling with a camera. Sitting next to him was a girl who looked a few years younger. She wasn't doing much of anything, except lying on her back reading a comic book and idly kicking a megaphone back and forth between her feet. There was another girl (wearing an alarming amount of pink) dancing excitedly around Milford, ringlets bouncing with the movement. Robbie presumed this was the niece.

His eyes fell on the workman, who had straightened up momentarily to wipe a hand across his forehead. He went back to moving lighting equipment about and Robbie took the time to appreciate the view. Those jeans were doing wonders for his ass and the white work shirt he was wearing left very little to the imagination. The workman turned around. Robbie froze. That was _not_ a workman.

He walked briskly towards Meanswell before Sportacus could notice him, his face burning.

“Oh Mr. Rotten!” Milford said as he approached. “Delighted to have you on board!”

Robbie smiled thinly. “Of course,” he said, not trusting himself to say anymore. He shook Milford's hand awkwardly. He wasn't even sure if Meanswell remembered that they had met before.

“I've always been a great admirer of yours you know” he babbled on, and Robbie tuned him out, eyes wandering over to Sportacus once more. He was talking to the pink girl, who had not stopped moving since Robbie had gotten there. He watched Sportacus swing her up onto his shoulders as if he'd done it a thousand times.

It was a sight that made him ache, just a little. He'd never been able to do that for Ella, even when she was small. With a start he realised they had spotted him and were making their way over.

Milford was still talking and Robbie hadn't heard a word of what he'd had to say. It probably wasn't important anyway.

“-and I know Stephanie is very excited to- Oh! Stephanie! Mr. Sportacus! Do come here and meet Mr Rotten!”

Sportacus smiled at him and stuck out his hand. “It's very nice to meet you!” His accent was _atrocious_. How he had made it this far Robbie would never know.

He shook his hand reluctantly and almost had his arm yanked out of it's socket. He stared at the arm that hand was attached to. Alright, Robbie knew _exactly_ how he'd made it this far.

“Likewise,” he said falsely.

“And this is my niece Stephanie!” Meanswell went on.

“Hello!” The pink girl said brightly. She was sickeningly adorable. No wonder Sterling thought this picture was going to sell. He attempted to smile at her, but he suspected it didn't look very convincing.

“Well,” Milford said as Sportacus set Stephanie back down on the floor, “I have some things to arrange, so I'll leave you two to get acquainted-”

Oh. Oh no. Robbie began to panic. Stephanie skipped off to join the other two children. Oh no.

“If you need anything, my office is just down there-”

_For the love of god do not leave me alone with him._

“-I'll see you both shortly”

He was gone.

_Oh no._

They stood in awkward silence for a moment. Robbie was not going to be the first one to speak. In fact, he was not going to spend anymore time around Sportafool than was necessary.

He spotted Bessie off to the side and made a beeline for her. She was the lesser of two evils at this point. Besides, she was the casting director for this picture; he had questions for her.

“Ms. Busybody,” he greeted, through clenched teeth. Bessie was a renowned gossip in acting circles; Robbie had witnessed her powers of information gathering years before and had lived in mild fear of her ever since.

“Oh, Mr. Rotten!” she exclaimed shrilly, throwing her hands up in excitement. “So wonderful to have us with you on this little project.”

“Of course it is” he said, smiled fixed, “but I would like to know when you had scheduled the auditions for?”

“Oh, don't worry about that, you don't need to audition!”

“What?” He couldn't have heard that right.

“You're Robbie Rotten! You don't need to bother with a silly little audition, the part is yours.” She said, smiling at him.

What on earth was wrong with this woman?

“But- you're the casting director- it's your _job_ to make me audition!” Things were off to an even worse start then he could have imagined.

“Oh, it would just be a formality in this case,” she waved away his concerns and then looked at her watch. “Oh! Goodness, is that the time? excuse me, I have some calls to make!” She hurried off before Robbie could say another word. He stared after her blankly, still unable to believe that exchange had really taken place.

“Uh-” Sportacus said, and Robbie jumped, having forgotten he was there.

“Yes?” he snapped impatiently.

“I-uh- just wanted to say that I'm looking forward to working with you” Sportacus said brightly, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Well. That's nice,” he said flatly. “Excuse me.” He turned and left without another word.

 

He stood outside leaning against the wall. He had gone straight over to Lazy Pictures after his meeting with Mr. Mayhem to see what he was dealing with, but he never could have expected this. It had to be some sort of joke. There was a B picture and then there was- whatever this mess was. Mayhem had an angle on this he was sure, and Robbie did not appreciate being used for it. He sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. _You're getting paid,_ he told himself, _just think about that_. _That's all that matters._

“What are you doing outside my studio?” a voice from the vicinity of his knees demanded.

Robbie looked down. There was a small boy in front of him holding a clipboard and wearing a lot of yellow.

“This isn't your studio kid.”

“Yes it is,” he insisted, putting his hands on his hips. “I work here.”

“You _what_?” Robbie yelped.

“Oh Stingy, there you are! I see you've met Mr. Rotten,” Meanswell said, appearing through the door to their right.“Mr. Rotten, this is Stingy, our unit production manager,” he patted Stingy on the head, who smiled in a very self satisfied manner at Robbie.

“Your unit production manager” he said flatly “is a nine year old boy.”

“Oh, don't let his age fool!” Milford said laughing. “He's very talented! All of the children are.”

All of the children. All. Of the children. Oh no.

“Mr. Meanswell-”

“Oh,Milford, please-”

“Milford-”Robbie said slowly. “Exactly who is going to be working on this picture?”

“Oh! Well, we're a bit short handed at the moment-”

Oh no.

“So, I'll be directing-”

Good _god_ no.

“Our cameramen sadly left quite suddenly, they had job offers elsewhere, so Pixel will have to cover that along with sound- that's him there with Trixie, our assistant director-”

It was the boy and girl he had spotted earlier. They had come outside and were now playing football with Stephanie and Sportacus, because what _else_ would they be doing in a film studio?

“Ms. Busybody is usually in charge of casting, but I'm afraid she'll be covering costume and makeup as well for this picture-”

Just how much of his staff had he lost?!

“I don't think Jives is here yet, but he's a lovely boy- he usually works with Pixel-”

“You mean to tell me that most of your crew consists of children?” Robbie asked, voice blank and and deliberately lacking in inflection.

“Yes, but I can assure you they're-”

“You expect these kids to be able to pull off 14 hour work days?”

“Oh no! Milford said aghast. “We only work half days here, and the children can take a break whenever they get tired.” He smiled at Robbie, as if this were a normal thing to do.

Robbie couldn't believe what he was hearing. He was the first to admit that he was a lazy individual- his time off was spent doing absolutely nothing and that was how he liked it, but films took time to make and if this was how Milford ran his studio it was no wonder his business was going under.

“Well, who's writing the script? You must have a script?” he asked, desperate for something to work with.

“Oh yes!” Milford said.

Robbie breathed a sigh of relief, relaxing minutely.

“Stephanie wrote it herself.”

Robbie inhaled sharply, tension shooting back up his spine. An eight year old girl had written the script. Just _great_.

“May I see it?” he asked, as calmly as he could manage.

“Oh of course- uh Stingy, do we have a copy of the script for Mr. Rotten?”

Stingy handed one to him. Robbie hadn't even seen where he'd gotten it from. Robbie took it. It was... alarmingly thin. But at least it was typed and not written in crayon.

“Right,” he said shortly. “Thank you. I have to- to go.”

He hurried off before anything else could happen. He had preparations to make.

 

“I'll do this travesty of a picture,” he said, bursting into Mr. Mayhem's office unannounced. “But my brothers are coming with me.”

“Now wait a minute-” Mayhem said, putting down the phone he had been in the middle of dialling. Robbie ignored him. He was not backing down on this.

“If I have to participate in this- farce- I will be working with people I trust, and that happens to be my family.”

“We need them here,” Mr. Mayhem insisted “they're working on that biopic for-”

“They are coming with me,” Robbie said firmly. “Find someone else for your biopic.”

“I don't know who they already have on board for this-”

“No one is who they have on board for this!” he shouted “Absolutely no one, so you can tell them if they want me in their picture they have to take my brothers too. All or nothing.”

He stormed out of the office for the second time that day. The slam of the door was no less satisfying the second time around.

 

“So, what's the picture about?” Bobby asked as they walked across the studio towards the car.

Robbie had marched straight from Mayhem's office to the studio where his brothers were currently working. The rest of the crew had protested, loudly, about their removal but Robbie had resolutely ignored them.

“Honestly, I don't know. What are eight year old girls liable to want to make pictures about?”

Robbie had no idea. All he had to go on was Ella, and all she cared about was ballet and piano. And her cat.

“I have the script here, Flobby,” he said, pulling it out of his coat pocket. “Would you look it over, please?”

Flobby took the script from him, giving him a mock salute. Despite the horrendous day he'd been having, it made Robbie smile.

“Anyway, the whole studio is a disgrace, and I told Mayhem if he wants me to work on it I'm damn well taking you lot with me- unless” he said, suddenly faltering. “Unless you want to do the biopic instead?” _Shit_ , why did he always do this? Drag his brothers into things before asking them first. _Everytime_ he-

“Nah, this sounds way more fun,” Bobby said, smiling at him, looking up from where he was peering at the script over Flobby's shoulder. Next to him Flobby nodded enthusiastically. But then Flobby was always enthusiastic. The pressure on Robbie's heart eased just a little, and he smiled weakly back at them.

“Besides, with all the kids around maybe we can finally get Ella to make some friends,” Tobby put in from his other side.

Robbie paled, thinking of the bouncing pink girl, and the impromptu football match he'd witnessed earlier. Of his Ella playing _football_ with _Sportacus_. He shuddered.

“I do not want her anywhere _near_ those brats,” he said decisively.

“What about you Robbie?” Tobby asked suddenly. “Do you want to do this picture?”

Robbie blinked, taken aback. He looked into the earnest, concerned face of his brother and considered lying. No, they'd see through it in a heartbeat, especially once they got on set. He sighed.

“Honestly, no, but I don't have much of a choice, do I?” he said sullenly.

He kept walking, his brothers trailing after him.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So the majority of this will be from Robbie's perspective, but sometimes I think I'll keep adding in bits and pieces from Sportacus' or Stephanie's pov if I feel like the flow of the story needs it.  
> Robbie is my focus for this fic though. Please help this trash man, he needs to rest :')

It was late by the time Robbie got home. He had spent a tedious evening speaking with Milford about how they were going to get this thing made, had introduced the man to his brothers, and had then remembered the opening of his latest picture had been tonight and he was _expected to attend._ There had been so many _people_.

He flopped into his hideous orange armchair with a quiet groan. It was 11pm, Ella would already be in bed by now, he thought guiltily. He pressed his palms into his eyes, willing away the encroaching headache. There went another day where he had barely seen her. At least his brothers had been around to keep her company.

He switched on the lamp beside his chair and noticed the script sitting on the coffee table. It was now covered in Flobby's messy scrawl. He picked it up and sighed, settling into his chair to skim though it. It wasn't... _bad_ , all things considered. Especially given it was written by a child. Flobby's notes definitely improved upon it though. His tired brain tried valiantly to focus on the script, but didn't quite manage it. He set it down again and glanced at the clock. 12pm. He wouldn't sleep even if he tried. It didn't matter how tired he was, whether he was in his chair or his bed, it didn't matter how exhausted he was, he knew sleep would elude him for another hour at the very least. If he was lucky he'd drop off somewhere around 2am.

He heaved himself out of his chair, retrieved himself an obscenely large slice of chocolate cake from the kitchen and picked up the script once more.

\---

When he turned up at Lazy Pictures it was just past midday and Assistant Director Trixie was yelling into her megaphone. Robbie's sleep deprived brain protested violently at this, the sound jarring and too loud in his ears, and he almost went home right then and there. He didn't actually need to be here; he was an actor, he didn't need to be on set until filming started, but he knew his brothers would be working so he felt like he should at least show his face, however briefly.

Fortunately, he spotted Flobby and he hurried over to him, eager to be in familiar company. Too late did he notice that Stephanie was with him. She stamped her little foot angrily. Robbie noticed she was holding the altered script.

“That's not how the story is supposed to go!”

Oh, great.

She spotted Robbie. “Mr. Rotten, you tell him!” She pointed indignantly at Flobby, who frowned at her. Robbie sauntered over reluctantly, hands in the pockets of his tailored purple suit.

“He can understand you perfectly well, little girl-”

“Stephanie.”

“Whatever- anyway, I can assure you whatever alterations he made to your story, it needed them,” he said archly, raising a disdainful eyebrow at her.

“But- but now it won't make any sense!” she insisted, heatedly. “Sportacus is supposed to be the fairy princess's dad! He doesn't show up until the end of the story!”

Ah. Robbie could see why Flobby had changed that.

Robbie hadn't actually finished the script because he had fallen asleep in his chair again, but what he had read had seemed like pretty standard stuff. Fairy princess is looking for her father, encounters danger and peril and Robbie Rotten shaped villain along the way. Presumably she finds her father in the end, but if the father was going to be played by Sportacus they were going to have a problem.

“Look, kid,” he began with as much diplomacy as he could muster.

“Stephanie!”

“Yes, yes, alright, _Stephanie_ \- Sportacus is your lead actor, you understand? Personally I think the less screen time he gets the better-”

She scowled at him indignantly.

“-but this has to _sell_. He's the reason some people are going to come and see this movie-”

 _He'll be getting top billing,_ Robbie thought bitterly.

“-he's the reason you have the money to make it; how are people going to react when he only appears for 5 minutes right at the very end?”

She stared sullenly at the ground, pouting.

“ _Exaclty,_ ” he said, triumphantly. Flobby nodded in agreement.

“Can I see it?” a voice behind Robbie said suddenly.

He squeaked, spinning around to find Sportacus standing right behind him.

“Don't do that!” he spluttered, stepping hastily away from the other man.

“Sorry?” Sportacus offered, like he wasn't sure what he'd done wrong.

“Oh never mind!” Robbie snapped. “Pinky, give Sportaloon the script.” He stormed off, ignoring the shout of “It's Stephanie!” behind him.

 

He tracked down his other brothers to one of the workrooms that was attached to the main studio, glad to be away from that muscle bound oaf.

“How are things?” he asked, leaning against the door frame.

“Hi Robbie! They're not so bad,” Bobby said. “But you were right, about this picture being a mess; Mr. Meanswell hadn't even thought about doing any on location shoots- apparently he thought he could make this entire thing in the studio.”

He and Tobby were currently pouring over a table covered in sheets of paper. With a start, Robbie realised they were mostly preproduction sketches that most definitely had not existed at this time yesterday.

“How long did all of this take you?” he asked, walking over to take a look, aghast at the thought of how much work this must have taken them.

“It's fine, we just worked a couple of extra hours on it is all.” Tobby reassured him, looking up from his current drawing. “We let Ella help,” he added, indicating the drawings done in purple pencil.

“Don't worry about it Robbie! This part is up to us! You just need to worry about playing your character!” Bobby said, smiling at him.

 _Right_ , Robbie thought. His character. A villain in a _B-picture_. What a role. He felt even more tired suddenly, shoulders sagging. He hadn't made a B-picture in a good four years at least, and this felt like a step back at best, and the beginning of a downward spiral at worst. That was how things worked in Hollywood.

“Right,” he said gloomily. “Well, let me know how it goes.”

“Hey Robbie?” Bobby called as he was leaving. “Please at least try to sleep in an actual bed tonight?” Tobby sat at the table pretending not to listen.

Robbie stared at the thinly veiled concern on his brother's face. He nodded meekly, and Bobby offered him a sad smile. They both knew that wasn't going to happen.

 

When he re-entered the main studio Flobby was nowhere in sight, but Sportacus and Stephanie were still there. He had no idea if the issues with the script had been resolved but he suspected not. Stephanie was demonstrating what Robbie assumed were her dance routines to him, and the other children had rushed to join in. In all likelihood Sportacus had probably just distracted Stephanie from the dispute by playing with her. He glared at the other man where he was busy 'dancing' with Stephanie. He dipped her and she giggled. For some reason this made Robbie glare harder.

Flobby had probably gone to find Bobby and Tobby. The three of them worked in-tandem together on any picture they made, and they were quite a formidable team. He trusted them to sort this whole thing out into a reasonable competent production.

He felt fatigue begin to pull at him, tugging at his tired shoulders and weighing heavily on his eyelids. He hadn't managed to fall asleep until 4am, and even then he had slept fitfully, and he had woken feeling no more rested than before. He wasn't actually needed here today, so he _could_ go home (the less time he spent in this hell hole the better) but... He blinked his eyes rapidly. No, driving wasn't a good idea now. Besides, he remembered with a sinking feeling, Mayhem had called earlier and told him to come see him at around 5. Hopefully he could find somewhere quiet to have a nap, but with all of the children swarming all over the place it was unlikely.

“Hello Mr. Producer!” said an unfamiliar voice from across the studio.

Robbie looked up. There was a small blonde boy, holding an enormous lollipop in his small sticky hand, talking to Meanswell. _Oh great_ , Robbie thought, _more children, just what the place needed._

“Oh! Hello Ziggy! I haven't seen you in a while!” Milford said to the boy.

“Are you making a new picture? Can I watch?” he asked eagerly, between licks of the lollipop.

“Of course you can! We're not filming for a while yet though I'm afraid.” Milford's lax attitude to secrecy about upcoming projects did not surprise him, but it did irritate him even more so than he already was. He hadn't even started working and he already hated this place and everyone in it.

“Aw,” Ziggy's face fell.

“Mr. Meanswell,” Sportacus said, approaching just then, “could I ask you-”

Ziggy's eyes went wide. He stared at Sportacus.

“Oh! Hello!” Sportacus greeted him warmly, giving a little wave as he noticed the boy staring.

Ziggy stuttered out a few noises.

“Y-you're Sportacus!”

“That's right!” he said laughing.

“Wow! I'm your biggest fan, I've seen all your pictures!” Ziggy was near shaking with excitement at this point. Robbie didn't see what all the fuss was about.

“You have! Wow, that's very impressive.”

“When I grow up I want to be just like you, look I even have a cape like you have in your adventure picture!”

Robbie had been wondering what that awful scrap of fabric attached to his shoulders was supposed to be.

“How do you do all of those flips?” the boy went on “Can I learn to do that someday?”

Robbie sneered at the open admiration on the boy's face. Kids had no taste, clearly.

“Apples,” Sportacus told the boy solemnly “I eat lots of apples.” He produced one shiny red apple from the pocket of his overalls and handed it to the boy, who promptly swapped it for his lollipop.

Just then he looked up and spotted Robbie staring. “And practise of course,” he added with a wink, still looking at Robbie. Robbie felt every bit of blood in his body rush to his face. He turned and stormed off just as Ziggy was asking Sportacus to demonstrate some of his stunts. He was _not_ sticking around to see _that_! 

\---

“I don't like him,” Stephanie said with a pout, following Sportacus' gaze as Robbie crossed the studio on his long legs. Ziggy had run off to find the rest of the children to play with.

“He's a very talented actor Stephanie,” Sportacus said soothingly “I'm sure he's just used to a more...professional environment.”

“That's no excuse for being so grumpy all the time!”

Sportacus laughed, ruffling her hair.

“No, I guess not.”

In truth he knew Robbie didn't like him, which was...disappointing really. He was a big fan. He had been for a long time. He never thought their careers would over lap, and had been beyond excited to find out they would be working together. It was a shame things were going so poorly. He sighed.

“Come on, he said to Stephanie “let's get the other kids together and play a game, what do you say?”

Stephanie's smile was almost enough to make him forget his disappointment.

\---

Sometime later the sound of screaming children woke him. After Sportacus had decided to ruin his day by winking at him Robbie had decided that he _definitely_ needed a nap, and had found a blessedly empty dressing room to do so in. He would have gone into one of the other two studio buildings where it would be quieter, but they were locked up since no one was currently using them, and he had not felt at all up to the task of trying to get the key from Milford. Something hit the wall. Loudly. He twitched. His head pounded. He waited for the sounds to stop. They did not. He growled, marching over to throw open the door- to reveal Sportacus and the studio's entire hoard of children playing football in the corridor.

“Will you keep those brats quiet!” he snarled, the little patience he possessed well and truly having run out.

“They're only playing Robbie,” Sportacus said, plaintively, holding the ball.

“I don't care what they're doing it's too loud! And this is a studio, not a playground!” He was shouting now, but he didn't really care. “If you're just going to mess around maybe you shouldn't be here!”

“Hey! We all have jobs here! We're just taking a break!” Trixie shouted indignantly.

Robbie glared at her and opened his mouth to retort when he noticed Sportacus was _looking_ at him. _Scrutinising_ him. Robbie tried not to squirm, jutting his chin out defiantly instead.

“No, Robbie has a point,” Sportacus said at last.

Robbie blinked. He did?

“We should go outside and play so we're not bothering anyone.”

“Yes- well” Robbie stuttered, not having expected to be agreed with. Well...good!” he slammed the door to the dressing room on Sportacus' earnest and concerned face. He let his forehead fall against the door with a thunk.

This picture was going to be a _disaster_.

\---

“So, what's it like over there Rotten?” Mayhem asked as Robbie settled himself into the chair opposite his desk. Robbie had been asleep in the dressing room for hours and it had been 6pm when Tobby had found him and woken him up. Robbie didn't particularly care about being late to his meeting though. Mr. Mayhem could wait all night for all he cared.

“A mess,” Robbie said. “Most of their crew consists of literal children, why Sterling has invested in this I don't know, but it'll be a miracle if this damn picture gets made at all.”

The smoky haze that permanently pervaded Mayhem's office seemed even thicker than usual, Robbie noticed. This meant that either Mayhem had been smoking an unusual amount, or that the other two Mayhem brothers had been in for a visit. It was probably the latter. The fading sun filtering through the blinds caught on the smoke as usual, almost obscuring the man behind the desk entirely.

“At least I know my brothers are competent enough to pull it off,” Robbie added, thinking of the work they had already done.

“They must have a lot on their plate, if they're as understaffed as you say,” Mayhem mused.

Robbie stiffened.

“I suppose,” he said slowly.

“All I'm saying is that they would have less work to do if you'd let them stay on the biopic.”

“They were happy to work on this with me. They said so themselves,” Robbie said tersely. He knew what Mayhem was doing. “What are you getting out of this anyway?” he asked. Manipulation was what Mayhem did best, and Robbie knew he had an angle here.

“Don't be so suspicious Rotten,” Mayhem sneered. “We all know that Sterling doesn't invest in projects he doesn't believe in. Having a hand in one of them was an opportunity we couldn't pass up. Meanswell is giving us the picture for distribution at a reduced price, too.”

Robbie sighed. Of course he was. Milford has absolutely no business sense. Even if this picture was a success (which was looking doubtful) Robbie didn't hold out much hope for the future of his studio. That wasn't Robbie's problem though. Mayhem was a cad and Robbie wouldn't trust him as far as he could throw him, but he did have a point about his brothers. The money that Sterling had provided was, in all likelihood, to cover production costs, not taking into account paying any new members off staff. They just didn't have the money to hire more people, and bringing his brothers onboard the project had given them a hell of a lot of work to do.

 _Shit_ , he should have just let them finish the biopic. At least they would have had a fully staffed crew to work with. As it was he was probably going to have to put in extra hours to make sure their workload was bearable. He thought longingly of his already sparse hours of sleep.

“What about Sportacus?”

“What about him?” Robbie asked impatiently, snapping out of his thoughts. He was playing right into Mayhem's hands here, he knew it. He always did, in the end.

“What's he like?” Mr. Mayhem prompted.

Robbie thought of his tousled hair and sparkly eyes and the way his arms looked in shirts with the sleeves rolled up.

“As insipid as the characters he plays and only half as competent,” he snapped, getting up and leaving the room without waiting for Mayhem to dismiss him. Thinking about Sportacus had ruined his mood even more.

\---

“I'm taking over costume design,” Robbie said the next day, marching up to Milford as the producer approached his office, morning coffee in hand.

He had stayed up all night getting a head start on the designs and was now operating in a frantic exhaustion fuelled haze. He loomed over Milford, fingers tight on the folder containing his work, trembling minutely.

“Oh but- Ms. Busybody-” Milford began, blinking up at him.

“Is the casting director, and will have her hands full with that, should we actually manage to get hold of any extras.”

“Well-”

“If I need any extra help she can make herself useful with the actual assembling of the costumes, but I will be working with my brothers to make sure this mess actually has a decent, cohesive design. Good day Milford,” he said, walking off briskly before Meanswell could say anything else.

If he was going to have his name attached to this mess he was going to make it the best mess he damn well could, and if that meant taking control of the picture then so be it.

“You,” he said pointing at Stingy as he spotted the boy crossing the studio.

“Yes?” the boy said primly, holding his clipboard delicately.

“What have you budgeted so far?”

Stingy grudgingly handed Robbie a sheet of paper, which he had to tug out of the boys hand.

“Is that really all we have?” he asked, blinking at the total sum on the page.

“Yes.”

“That's- barely enough to cover what we're going to need to get this made at a decent standard,” Robbie said doubtfully. He had expected more from Sterling; the man was made of money. But then again, he had made a living out of spending it wisely.

“Why don't we just ask Mr. Sterling for some extra?” Stingy said, shrugging.

Robbie scoffed. “He's not going to give us anything-”

“Why not?” Stingy demanded.

“Because- he- look, Sterling doesn't make investments lightly-”

“But if we need extra we should have it,” Stingy insisted, as if things were that simple.

“Look- just- fine! Fine! Ask for more money, see if I care!” Robbie threw his hands up, walking off with the budget sheet and ignoring Stingy's protests of “That's mine!”

 

He had to do something about this. He hadn't bothered to get involved in pre-production of a picture in a while but this was unbearable. He tracked down Trixie to where she was busy glueing a penny to the ground outside the studio door.

“You-” he pointed at her, “Assistant director, correct?

“Yeah,” she said slowly, squinting at him suspiciously and attempting to hide the coin and glue behind her foot.

“Get everyone together, we're having a meeting.”

She straightened up, folding her arms defiantly. “You're not in charge-”

“Just do it!”

 

“Right,” he said to their assembled crew 10 minutes later (he had to hand it to Trixie, she was very efficient).Besides Robbie and his brothers their current staff consisted of Milford, Bessie, Sportcacus (Robbie shuddered), and 5 children plus Ziggy who Robbie assumed didn't actually work at the studio but seemed to be here regardless.

“This studio is a travesty.”

He shushed the children's indignant protests.

“How you've all managed this long I don't know, but if you're going to get this thing made you're going to have to manage things better.”

The children scowled. Milford shuffled his feet awkwardly. Robbie went on.

“That being said, I'm putting myself in charge of this mess because apparently none of you know how to actually organise a production like this. Usually, I only bother with creative input regarding his own wardrobe, and I always handle my own make-up, but since this picture is so woefully understaffed, I will be in charge of costume design,” he barrelled on before anyone could say anything.

“My brother Bobby will be taking the directors chair,” he looked at him for confirmation and Bobby nodded “and with Tobby and Flobby will be handling all of the set designs, the location management, the script” he looked pointedly at Stephanie, who frowned at him, “so if anyone has anything to say on any of those matters take it to them.”

He clapped his hands together.

“Since the rest of you already work here I'm going to assume you all know what your jobs _actually_ _are_?”

Everyone nodded haltingly. Robbie wasn't sure he believed them, but he had enough to be getting along with right now.

“Right. Any questions? No? Good! Perfect!”

“I have a question,” Stephanie said loudly, raising her hand. “Why are you so mean?”

The other children snickered. “Stephanie,” Sportacus scolded mildly. “Don't be rude to Mr. Rotten, he's just trying to make this picture the best it can be, right Robbie?”

Why did he have to be so nice all the time? It made it harder to hate him.

“No, she's right,” he saw Sportacus' face fall and felt a small amount of petty satisfaction about it. “I am mean, and I am perfectly happy that way, now if that's all,” he made a shooing motion with his hands. 

The group began to disperse and Robbie was about to go and join his brothers when a gentle hand caught his elbow. It was Sportacus, with Stephanie by his side.

“Actually Robbie, I had something I wanted to ask you?

“Yes? Yes, what is it?” Robbie said impatiently, tugging his arm out of Sportacus' grip.

Sportacus hesitated, and Robbie could already feel his temper fraying.

“Spit it out! I haven't got all day!”

Sportacus continued to flounder, before stuttering, “I just thought- maybe we could include a dance number for your character as well!” He smiled brightly, apparently pleased with himself. “What do you think Stephanie?

Stephanie pulled a face. So did Robbie. Stephanie opened her mouth, probably to protest.

“I can't dance,” Robbie cut in stiffly, sniffing disdainfully before she could say anything.

“Oh, I'm sure you could learn-”

“No,” he interrupted tersely, “I know how to dance. I just I _can't_ anymore. Physically.”

“Oh!” Sportacus said, realisation dawning. “Uh- I'm sorry, I didn't-”

“It's fine,” he said flatly, in a tone he hoped signaled an end to the conversation.

Sportacus took the hint, and said no more on the subject, but Robbie did catch him _looking_ at him every now and then. It made Robbie wish he'd never said anything.

It was a bit of an exaggeration, but Sportacus didn't need to know that. Robbie could still dance, on his good days, but he preferred to spend his good days lying about not doing anything except eating cake if he could help it. The fact was he just didn't enjoy dancing anymore, and he certainly didn't want to expend unneeded effort for some amateur B-picture.

\---

“Hey, uh, Flobby?” Sportacus asked tentatively approaching Robbie's brother. Robbie himself was nowhere in sight, which eased his nerves slightly; after this failed attempt at telling him his idea this morning he was glad he wasn't around to hear him run it past his brother instead.

Flobby looked up from what he was working on and waved him over, smiling.

“So, I-uh I had an idea about the script...”

Flobby nodded, and he explained, fidgeting nervously all the while. When he was finished Flobby stared at him.

“It's OK if you don't like it,” he said hastily.

Then to his astonishment, Flobby _beamed_ at him and pulled him into a bone crushing hug.

“Oh. I- I take it you like it then?”

Flobby nodded enthusiastically. Huh. Sportacus wished all of the Rotten family could be this easy to get along with.

He was even more astonished when Flobby waved over Tobby and began to sign something to him frantically. Tobby's face lit up more with every passing second and he shot Sportacus an approving look. He signed something back to Flobby. Sportacus shuffled his feet uneasily while they talked, feeling very out of the loop.

“I think it's a great idea!” Tobby said at last, and the tension eased out of Sportacus. “You should tell Robbie!” The tension was instantly back tenfold.

“Oh! Uh-” Sportacus stuttered, turning red “Do you think he'd like it I mean- I wouldn't want to bother him with-”

“He'll love it, trust me!”

“Are you sure you shouldn't just tell him? I know he doesn't like me very much,” he said wryly, with a sheepish smile.

Tobby scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. “Oh, Robbie's a big softie! He's just grumpy because he doesn't sleep so well.”

Flobby signed something.

“Yeah, and he worries a lot.”

Against his better judgement, Sportacus felt a sudden spike of concern for the other man. He had thought he looked tired earlier, and then there had been the thing about the dancing...

“I- OK,” he said at last. “I'll tell him.”

\---

“ **Wake up Mr. Rotten!** ”

Robbie jumped violently, his back protesting at the sudden movement, his sketches fluttering to the floor around him. After his talk with the crew and subsequent encounter with Sportacus he had retreated to the unused dressing room to hole himself up in while he worked, figuring that way at least he'd get some piece and quiet. Apparently he had been wrong. He blinked in confusion, finding that Trixie had already run off to find someone else to harass with her megaphone. She was glued to that thing it seemed. Robbie suspected this was revenge for bossing her about this morning.

He sighed heavily, staring at where his half designed costumes had fallen on the floor. He waited a few more minutes for the pain in his back to diminish before he leaned down to gather them up. The dim light and relative quiet of the dressing room had caused him to fall asleep in the middle of working on Stephanie's dress. He shook his head, trying to clear the haze of exhaustion from his mind, and looked over his work. Hmm. It wasn't quite floaty enough. Too stiff for a fairy princess. He made a few notes. He'd have to make sure Stephanie could still dance in it too. He made another note.

“Did you draw those Robbie? You're very talented!”

He jumped again, sending paper and pencils scattering everywhere. He should have known it would be one of those days.

“Will you stop that!” he hissed, holding his back. He _really_ needed to stop spending all night in that chair, it wasn't helping matters at all.

“Sorry,” Sportacus said for the second time that day. He picked up the sheets of paper and displaced stationary. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine just- give me a minute,” he managed through clenched teeth. Two days in and this was already the most stressful job he'd had in years.

The pain faded and Sportacus hovered anxiously by his side.

“Is that why you can't dance?” he asked, completely devoid of tact.

“Mind your own business,” Robbie snapped. “What are you even doing here? We haven't even scheduled shooting yet.” he asked, hoping to deflect any prying questions about his well-being. There was no real need for Sportacus to be on set at this stage, but he seemed to spend all day there regardless.

“Oh, I like to help out!”

Of _course_ he did. He was so nice it was sickening.

“Actually, I had an idea about-”

“Look,” Robbie said tersely, “I'm busy. Unlike you, I have actual work to do,”

Sportacus' face fell, and Robbie was left with the distinct feeling that he had kicked a puppy.

“Oh,” he said quietly. “I'll uh- leave you to it then?”

“Yes. Please do.”

\---

“Robbie, are you sure you'll have time to design the costumes?” Bobby asked as they drove home, sounding worried. Tobby and Flobby had already taken the other car back sometime ago, since Ella's tutor would be leaving soon and they didn't want to leave her on her own.

“It's fine,” he said, from where he was lying down in the back. “At least this way I know they'll look right, besides, we'll get to work together a bit more.”

They drove on in silence for a little while before Bobby spoke again.

“Are you OK?”

Robbie opened one eye. ”Yes, why?” He hadn't thought he'd done anything lately that was cause for concern. Besides the usual, anyway.

“I don't know, you just seem...you've been a little...I don't know, off lately.” Bobby said, still staring out at the road in front of them.

Robbie blinked. He had?

“I'm fine, you don't have to worry about me,” he insisted. He refused to give his brothers more things to deal with.

“Well, somebody has to,” Bobby said, raising a sardonic eyebrow at him over the back of the seat.

Robbie laughed, feeling better than he had in days.

 

It wasn't particularly late when they got back, but the house was quiet and the door locked so Robbie assumed Tobby and Flobby had already gone to bed. He locked the door after them as Bobby headed into the kitchen and began opening cupboards. He stared into the living room, looking longingly at his chair. He could hear Bobby suddenly not making any noise from the kitchen. He turned himself abruptly from the direction of the living room and marched himself upstairs quickly.

He looked in on Ella. She was fast asleep. Her cat, Oberon, was curled up asleep, tucked under her arm like an enormous feline teddy bear. He had been a tiny little thing when they'd first got him, and Robbie had had no idea that he would grow to be so big. He was black and white and extremely fluffy. He left fur _everywhere_. Robbie hadn't been able to say no to Ella's simpering face when she had picked him out of that cardboard box 3 years ago. He could almost never say no to Ella. He'd spoiled her rotten really, but she was a good kid, besides her mischievous streak.

He felt like every picture he made these days was for her. One time he wouldn't have dared turn down any part if it got him money to support his family, but the last few years he hadn't even _needed_ to turn any parts down; he might still be getting typecast but at least they were A-pictures. He hated working for Mayhem Bros. but they got him decent parts at least. He hadn't really needed to worry about money for a long time, but it was a force of habit. A niggling anxiety that he had never been able to shake off, even after he had made a name for himself.

He jumped suddenly as Bobby tapped him on the elbow. He shoved a tray into his hands.

“Goodnight Robbie,” he said, before disappearing into his bedroom.

Robbie looked at the tray. On it was a mug of hot chocolate and a piece of cake, which he knew to be the last slice of Bobby's favourite.

His throat felt tight. He blinked his eyes rapidly.

“Goodnight Bobby” he said quietly to the empty corridor.

 

He slept better that night. Whether it was because of the chocolate or the bed he didn't know.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ziggy's job in this au is to be cute.  
> I was torn between calling the cat (who is of course the lazy town kitten) Oberon to fit with the theme of Stephanie's story, or Giselle to fit with Ella's ballet theme. Oberon won in the end just because I really like the name.

**Author's Note:**

> Some notes:  
> Poverty Row was the name collectively given to a group of small independent (and short lived) studios that produced mainly B pictures. They rarely lasted because they couldn't compete with the bigger studios, though some well known actors started their careers with them.  
> This is the type of studio that Lazy Pictures is.
> 
> It was also common for the big companies to own not only actual film studios, but the production company and a chain of theaters to distribute their films to. This is the type of company that Mayhem Bros. is.
> 
> A unit production manager handles the production budget and schedule. They also have a lot of contact with studio executives.  
> An assistant director doesn't actually direct anything, organise shooting schedules and get tell everyone where they need to be, stuff like that.


End file.
